


What the Future Holds

by virdant



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Changing Tenses, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: Written for a prompt of apocalypse!Hannigram; Will, Hannibal, and Abigail after the end of the world.





	What the Future Holds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mischallany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischallany/gifts).



> Originally written for mischallany on tumblr for their assistance on a UX project. In light of all of the tumblr changes, I am porting it over to AO3 now.

Hannibal’s trimming the fat from the meat when Will comes back inside; he uses the knife as if he were born to it, but they were all reborn when the world ended and left them alive. He looks up, the planes of his face softening at the sight of Will, and then returns to his task.

Abigail, on the other hand, is effusive. She cries, “Will!” in shameless teenage delight, taking the brace of fish from him, her voice mingling with the happy barking of the dogs. Will hushes them. She’s been tanning the hides, making putty from the bones, stuffing hair into pillows—putting to work all of the skills she learned at Garrett Jacob Hobb’s hunting lodge. As resourceful as Hannibal is, meat has always been his first, and often only, priority when it comes to hunting. Abigail knows how to honor every part of the body.

She studies the fish, turning it this way and that. “Fish for dinner?” she finally asks.

“We can also salt them.” Salt’s something they have in abundance, living close to the sea the way they do. Hannibal’s a collection of cooking techniques, and salting fish is just one other method. There’s already a brace of fish hanging to dry from Will’s last excursion. Until they decide, he peels off his jacket and scarf, taking the fish to cut and clean them.

Abigail follows him, and he gives her a knife. They work together in tandem; Abigail tells Will about her hunt with Hannibal, the blade flashing in the light as she works. They’ve had to go further, today, before they found anything. She thinks they should set traps, around their home. A deterrent and also a source of food. Hannibal has ideas on how to build them, he told her so. Her hair falls over a shoulder, leaving her neck bare.

Will doesn’t look at her neck.

They work in domestic harmony: Hannibal with his meat, Abigail and Will preparing the fish, the dogs sitting quietly at their feet. It’s quiet, the type of quiet that stems from nobody around. The wind blows cold; winter is coming in earnest, and it will take all of their resources to survive it, in this new world without the trappings of civilization.

It has taken the end of the world for them to come together, and when he fixes this image in his mind: a fire burning warm and bright, illuminating the planes of Hannibal’s face and casting gold into Abigail’s hair; the dogs by the fire, Winston’s tail thumping against the wooden floor; a future without conflict stretching out before them, Will can’t find it in himself to regret any of it.

Hannibal looks up, again, as Will takes the fish and begins packing them with salt, rubbing them on the outside from tail to head, and then scooping handfuls to stuff their innards full. Hannibal doesn’t say anything, except:

“What did you see?”

Will looked up from the teacup in his hand—his dogs absent from his house, Abigail dead, dragged back to Wolf Trap unconscious by the Chesapeake Ripper—into the eyes of the man who thought to consume his mind, and said, “I’m no psychic.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos always appreciated!
> 
> want to talk writing? [follow me on tumblr](https://virdant.tumblr.com/) | [follow me on twitter](https://twitter.com/virdant)


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